Dropping the big one

Islander recalls hydrogen bomb experiments at Christmas Island

TOM WILLIAMS

3:53 PM, Oct 1, 2009

1939 was the year Albert Einstein wrote a letter to President Franklin D. Roosevelt warning that an atomic bomb was possible. It was also the year Rick Nolan was born. The young man growing up in Nutley, N.J. who is an active Marco Islander today experienced the atomic age up close and personal when he served in the U.S. Navy during the hydrogen bomb tests at Christmas Island in the central Pacific Ocean.

Operation Dominic was 36 nuclear bomb tests that exploded above ground during 1962. The tests were conducted near the equator by Christmas Island during a time when Soviet Russia was testing their own nuclear weapons. Never has international saber rattling been as loud, dangerous or forceful as when communist Russia and America faced off. And since Operation Dominic has recently been declassified, Nolan can now relate his experience during those incredible tests, as he served on a vessel located less than 10 miles away from the blast site.

"The atomic bombs were the little ones," Nolan explained. "The hydrogen bombs were much stronger. We even joked about the atomics." He recalled a time when they were transporting two atomic bombs for a test aboard a landing craft when the bosun's mate told everyone that he was going to the far side of the ship because if the ‘little atomics' accidentally went off he wanted to be safe.

Nolan remembered that the operation was well organized. All navy personnel were rallied each morning before dawn and waiting for the voice of Mohatma. Everywhere on Christmas Island, or Kiritimati as the natives called it, there were loudspeakers and the entire island could hear the daily announcements. When they began, everybody listened because it counted down the moments before a nuclear weapon explosion.

The first explosion detonated was an atomic, or fission weapon like the bombs used on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japan, but as Mohatma — the official announcer's code name explained — the fusion or hydrogen weapons were going to be much stronger.

During one of the first tests, Nolan and some of his fellow navy personnel were stationed on a 150-foot landing craft beached about nine miles from the blast sight when the metallic voice of Mohatma began.

"This is Mohatma speaking. We are five minutes away from blast time."

When that warning came, everyone was trained to pull up the collars on their dungaree shirts to cover exposed skin and to pull the sides of the white sailor caps down to cover the head. For eye protection, all personnel wore thick cobalt goggles like welding glasses, and everyone was warned to turn away from the blast.

"This is Mohatma speaking. We are one minute away from blast time. Turn way from the blast."

As the minutes and seconds ticked down to detonation time, the sound of the aircraft carrying the bomb could be heard flying overhead. On most occasions the navigational lights of the plane were visible, but for some of the weapons tests, the H-bomb was positioned on a raft out at sea and the plane was only stationed aloft for observation.

"This is Mohatma speaking. Turn away from the blast. The bomb has been released. Bombs away."

After Mohatma announced "bombs away," it was only a few seconds until the effects began. The first indication was a sudden warm flash of heat that could be felt on any part of the body that was turned toward the blast.

"Our backs felt like someone was holding a sunlamp on you," said Nolan of the white-hot first stage of the explosion that would blind anyone instantly — even with the goggles on. "And then, traveling faster than the speed of sound, came the shock wave."

All personnel were continuously warned to keep their mouths open during detonation so that pressure of the shock wave would not damage the ears. Everyone was also advised that it would be best not to swallow too.

"When the concussion wave came, it was almost like a giant sonic boom. Once there was a double boom when it was a big hydrogen weapon and we weren't expecting that."

"The view (of the blast) was incredible," Nolan recalled of the explosions. "We could see the blast ring — sometimes more than one — coming out from the base of the explosion, and then the mushroom cloud climbing well above us. Those mushroom clouds rose to 60,000 feet, and when we watched, we were looking almost straight up."

Not all of the tests went smoothly, Nolan recalled. One time in particular, Nolan thought the bomb was going to be dropped a little closer than usual. "We thought the plane was dropping the bomb right on top of us, but on that test, the bomb was on a raft out at sea," he said, remembering that the personnel didn't know which way to turn.

Because most of the navy personnel were stationed close to the detonation site, everyone wore radiation dosimeters and film badges to detect radioactivity after a blast. Nolan and his fellow crewmembers checked their radiation dosimeters daily. Remarkably enough, everyone on Nolan's landing craft always registered in the safe zone.

Nolan now lives on Marco with his wife Neva. He is a retired Newark, N.J. fire battalion chief and member of the Marco Historical Society. He works part time as a sailing captain for Marriott's Marco Island Beach Resort.